District 9 has disappeared into nothingness as I stare out the window of this sleek silver beast. My home is gone – maybe never to be seen again.
The Peacekeepers had hurried Ames and I from the Justice Hall after our requisite hour of farewells ended, hustling us past a gaggle of cameras and reporters waiting at the train station. I could barely keep my composure as we were herded onto the train like two cows headed to the slaughterhouse, ogled at by a press seeking blood. How am I supposed to look tough and strong in front of that? In comparison to Ames – who kept up his bored, nonchalant expression the entire time – I must seem weak already.
Coming aboard the train shocked me in an entirely different way, however. I've never seen such ornate décor: With silver-glazed tables and stands, crystal light fixtures, and chrome window sills, it's as if I've been transported to some alien land. I'm not in awe, however; I'm almost angry by this display of extravagance. Is this what the Capitol spends all its time building while poor children suffer in the district? Is this what they do while Reed and I submit our names for tesserae, while most families are happy to have food, shelter, and enough clothing for their kids?
It's sick.
I push away from the window as the last vestiges of District 9 fade away into the distance, with the train picking up speed. Green and golden fields of long grasses rush by at incredible speed – much faster than any animal I've ever witnesses. I've seen the trains before, of course – coming through to pick up wheat or soy deliveries, or dropping off Peacekeepers, but actually riding one is something else entirely.
"Is it that crazy?"
A thick, airy voice from behind me makes my skin crawl. I turn to find Ames's dead eyes looking straight at me, sizing me up as he leans back in one of the lounge's blue plush chairs. Cicero's left the two of us alone, and neither Selene nor Omaha has bothered to show up yet. I'm on my own with this boy…this tribute that I'm supposed to kill.
"It's new," I offer innocently enough. Make friends – that's what Sage had said; maybe I can start with my district partner. "You don't find it…different?"
Ames scoffs: "Doesn't really matter what I find it."
Guess I'd better change my approach: "Um…Ames, right? Did you…have anybody close say good-bye?"
He regards me with a chilly stare, his expression ranking me somewhere between a rat and a speck of dust: "Nobody important. Not enough to make me cry a river like you."
Great. That was a bad question to ask; of course he probably had people close to him. Now I've just upset him – and making friends with my fellow tribute from District 9 seems a whole lot harder. Good job, Skye; you're helping out your situation immensely!
I turn back to the window, watching the plains wind past the glass in a blur. I wish I could just jump out this window right now – escape into these fields rushing by, get lost forever and make everyone else forget about me. No Hunger Games, no loss…just the open prairie and I.
A loud bang! startles me as the sliding chrome door to the next car is thrown open. Selene, dressed down into a ripped white shirt that only marginally covers her assets, wanders in, carrying a wad of something pink and gummy and looking quite amused.
"Well, you two are screwed," Selene takes a bite of the…thing…in her hand, chewing slowly and with purpose. She looks at the chandelier in the middle of the lounge car with distaste – clearly, opulence and her don't go together. "Volunteer tributes from 1 and 2 are gonna wipe everyone out again like last year."
I blanche, making Ames laugh at my expression. Thanks for the support, district partner. I happen to be scared of an untimely death.
"That's helpful," Ames sarcastically remarks in response to Selene.
"I suppose I should change the way I say that," she shrugs. "Everyone else is tiny, and the moment you enter the arena, they'll all commit suicide. You two will immediately be the last ones left, and have a staring contest to decide the winner. Everyone goes home happy, and I puke up rainbows. Is that what you'd rather hear? Because I'm trying to be honest."
Ames looks annoyed as he retorts, "So what would you have me do? Just sit on my ass and die?"
"Well, if you want to die…" Selene smirks. "Or you could man up, unlike the last…what, thirty or so?...tributes who've died under me, and actually win. I'm just saying you have your work cut out for you. If you don't like that, you won't have a chance in Hell."
"Where's Cicero?" Ames grunts, accepting Selene's commentary. "And that other guy?"
"Hopefully Cicero's dead in a ditch," our mentor replies frankly, spitting a wad of the pink stuff on the floor. "I hate that self-righteous bastard, always gassing on about 'laws' and shit. As for Omaha…I have no idea, but I wouldn't expect him until breakfast tomorrow. He's a quieter guy."
Selene looks right at me, sizing me up for a minute before continuing, "You. Whatever your name is…you've just stood there like a mouse. Are you gonna cry again? That wasn't helping my job at all. Only a few of the Capitol people like the 'cute and crying' type, and they're usually not the kind who spends big money on sponsorships."
I pull away: Selene hasn't made the best impression on me. Frankly, it seems she'd rather leave me to the dogs and take her chances with Ames. At least try to get the mentors on your side, Skye!
"What do you want me to do?" I ask quietly, afraid of pushing any of her buttons.
"I don't know," Selene throws up her hands. "Too many questions. I don't even know you two kids yet. Tell you what, girl – what's your name?"
"Skye," I mutter.
"Skye. Okay," she turns away, shoving a bit more of the pink glob in her mouth and chewing it methodically. "And Ames. I got your name. You want to know everything? You want to know how you have a chance against that snakelike girl from District 2 I saw on the tv a few minutes ago? Then tell me who you are. Who are you?"
"I'm just…a girl…" I stammer, much to Selene's displeasure.
"That sucks," she dismisses me. "Alright, boy. Who are you? What do you do? Why should I like you, if I'm your average Cicero the Repugnant on the streets of the Capitol?"
Ames laughs derisively: "I don't really care if they like me."
"Thank you," Selene sighs. "Somebody knows who they are, even if it's 'I'm apathetic.' I can work with apathetic. I'm done for now – dinner's in fifteen in the car I just came out of. Try not to butcher each other before then."
Selene stalks out of the room, looking more than a little disgruntled. I can already tell I'm not the kind of tribute she wanted. I'm not angry or aggressive, not bloodthirsty or a giant. Nor am I the seductive and sexy girl that routinely prances out of District 1 – the type who wins sponsorships by the dozens from rich old men in the Capitol. I'm not of these things; I'm no superlative. I'm just a girl from District 9 who wants to escape with her life. Is that not enough?
"What d'you think she's chewing on?" I ask absent-mindedly.
Ames gives me an irritated stare: "You talking to me?"
"I guess not," I sigh.
Dinner's a one-sided affair. Cicero goes on and on about the history of the Games, how the Capitol views them, and how we should be proud of representing our district. He's not the normal kind of escort I've seen for other districts – the dyed-skin-and-colored-hair type who can't stop gabbing about fashion – but he's no less aggravating. It's clear Cicero doesn't have an idea of what I'm going through as my gut churns. He doesn't understand the anxiety of trying to find a way out of a worsening situation that's turning all too many people against me.
I try to lose myself in the food and forget about the others. The many dishes piled before me on the table are enticing, to say the least – dotted with salted fish, flavored meats, skewered exotic vegetables, and too many kinds of fruits that I've never dreamed of tasting. My stomach nearly revolts at the cornucopia of new things I'm trying.
Cornucopia. Ha. Using arena jokes already, Skye.
What little hope I have left dissolves as the Reaping recap arrives.
The familiar jovial, smiling face of Corinth Terence – the host of the Hunger Games for the last five years since the retirement of old Caesar Flickerman – pops onto the television screen in the dining car. Corinth lacks the gaudy suits of Caesar, but his bright orange hair – and tangerine-and-white outfit – make up quite the gaudy Capitol outfit.
"I preferred Caesar's enthusiasm," Cicero remarks. "But Corinth is a good man. Perhaps a little vanilla."
Selene mutters something under her breath at that.
"If you've missed the Reapings today – first, what have you been doing?" Corinth laughs at his boring joke, his stark-white teeth shining in the camera lights. "But we'll give you a chance to see them all tonight – every last one of them – and you'll meet your tributes from every district, Panem. Let's get this ball rolling!"
The recaps of District 1, 2, and 4 introduce me to the six tributes most likely to end my life in the arena – and they're no slouches. The three males are sliced perfectly from the mold of classic volunteer tributes: District 1's Cobalt, bathed in a silky, tan skin and a head of long silver hair – looks as if he'll gladly shake your hand while knifing you in the back. His pale eyes dance dangerously before the camera, appraising it with all the sincerity of a poisonous spider.
District 2 and 4 offer up much different boys. District 2's Sulla is a brutish, chimpanzee-like thing with black hair and bulging calves. He's barely taller than Ames and I, but his bounding, lighting steps up to the announcing platform tell me who he is: He's a physical specimen, bred with a sprinter's speed and agility that'll make him a devastating force on open ground, particularly at the Cornucopia. District 4's boy, Mako, is a block of iron. He pairs muscles with a head of dirty blonde hair and two bright brown eyes – he'll be a thing for the Capitol sponsors to fight over.
Not like the girls from the volunteer districts are much better. District 1 and 4 each offer forth attractive, seductive young woman with flowing brown hair – Crystal and Coral, respectively. Like Selene said, however, it's District 2's girl that looks the most dangerous out of this batch. Tethys, a girl of just fifteen, is wiry and powerful. She slithers up to the platform in stony, gray District 2 with the grace of a serpent, her eyes yellow and beady. She's tall, lengthy, and not someone I'd like to meet face-to-face in a fight. Something about her reminds me of poison.
"Marvelous," Cicero comments on Tethys, as if he'd like to personally escort her himself. "She is really the ideal of what a tribute should be, you see – proud of where she's from, ready to die for the honor of protecting her district's sanctity. That's what the Games are all about: True patriotism."
"Also death," Selene adds sardonically while stabbing a leg of meat with her knife. "Lots of that, particularly the gory kind. The best patriots I know are the ones leaking brain juice on the ground."
The rest of the field doesn't make much of an impact on me, with few exceptions. An awkward-looking boy out of District 3, Lattice, shakily steps up, with his blank gaze, unkempt red hair and emotionless reaction telling me that he's thinking of other things. Who loses track of their thoughts when Reaped?
"What's with the weird guy?" Ames asks in reaction to Lattice's introduction. "Looks like he'll get killed a minute into the thing."
"So you overlook him; he'll probably electrocute you while you sleep," Selene scoffs with a grin. "It's the quiet ones who are the most dangerous. Apart from the hulking monstrosities, of course."
I look at her disapprovingly. If the quiet ones are so deadly, why does she act like I'm already a dead girl? Did I upset her somehow – by being quiet when we were introduced?
Can something go right?
District 7 offers up an interesting pair: A well-muscled boy of eighteen, Sumac, who looks competitive with a sheen of bright blonde hair, but immediately breaks down into a sea of tears when called upon. I'm stupefied by his response – he looks like he could actually win! Why despair when you have a chance?
He looks even worse by comparison when his companion – a girl my age with soft, brown hair and cool, pine-green eyes named Autumn – walks forward without the slightest bit of misgiving. She's stoic and quiet next to his emotional turmoil, all while appearances say he could crush her like a bug if he so wanted to.
Perhaps appearances are deceiving.
The rest of the field isn't very memorable. District 10 produces a twelve year-old girl, Abilene, who has no chance at all, while District 11 and District 12 each give up weak, slender boys and girls who'll pad the kill count of the volunteers. I shudder: District 9's a poor district, but even we have better fortunes than those end-of-the-line places on the wayward corners of Panem. They rarely, if ever, win.
"When was the last guy who even won from District 12?" Ames asks in between mouthfuls of food. "They are always bad."
"Haymitch," Selene mutters. "He's in his sixties. I feel bad for the guy, really. You all are bad enough, giving me…what, fourteen years now since I won?"
I'm not thinking about District 12, however. I'm thinking about my appearance on the tv screen – a hesitant, weak girl about half the size of the big guys from Districts 2 and 4, forced towards the stage by Peacekeepers and looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else. I look awful; my performance is terrible. If the Hunger Games are really about getting people to like you – like Reed told me in the Justice Hall; like Selene has indicated – then I'm off to a really, really bad start. I look no better than those kids from Districts 11 and 12.
I push away from the table, disgusted with myself.
"I'm…gonna go to bed," I mumble, averting my gaze so I don't have to see the eyes fixed on me. "It's…big day tomorrow, right? And stuff."
Ames laughs snidely – he can feel that I'm not doing well. The tension's dripping off of me in waves.
"Oh, you'll miss the after-recap special," Cicero chides. "It's a great monument to the legacy of – "
"Please stop," Selene bangs an elbow on the table and swears violently. "Please."
I retreat before more damage can be done. Ames is after my blood; Cicero thinks I'm a poor excuse for a tribute, and Selene thinks I'm pathetic. Great. Sage would be verbally assaulting me right now: "I told you to make some friends, Skye! Are you even thinking? You're gonna get yourself killed!"
I'm sorry, Sage. I'm just not good at this thing.
I climb into the first empty cabin I can find, slamming the door shut and clicking the lock. I turn out every light except for the sunset outside, letting the scarlet-and-gold rays illuminate my room in a beautiful aura. Even that can't cheer me up: I'm in an alien land, surrounded by things I can't understand, forced to fight people I don't know who want nothing more than to go back to their families. To do so, they'll have to fight me and kill me. The odds aren't in my favor. They never were.
The setting sun pulls the anger out of me, and I'm left with only my exhaustion. Sitting with my back against the door, I rest my head against one of these foreign walls, give a weak sigh, and let sleep slowly overtake me.
At least I can still escape into sleep.